The Angel and The Dreamer
by Charlie the Twisted Sadist
Summary: With life making a turn for the seemingly worst, Alfred attempts suicide... Only to be stopped by a 'guardian angel.'


**A/N:** Hello, there. I'd like to share something about this thingy here. Uhh… _The Angel and The Dreamer_. I thought up of that title because of the song, _Don't Give Up on Us_, and the line, _the angel and the dreamer, who sometimes plays a fool_… So, yeah. Anyway, a few notes at the end, so I guess… I hope you enjoy. :D

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The Angel and The Dreamer

...

..

.

_23:48_, his clock blinked.

Everything was in a blur of color. With ironically blue eyes that had the perfect hue of clear, cloudless skies, he stared dazedly at the dark ceiling, slightly illuminated by the crescent moon and the single street light just a little off the sidewalk. Drowsiness was creeping to him, but his mind was completely restless. He bit his lips and sighed. He found it terribly difficult to figure out why _horrible_ things had been happening to him. Was there something he did? Was this _destined_ to happen to him? Was there _really_ a god that was behind it all, pulling the strings? He was confused, dreadfully confused. But he was sure of three things. Just three things. He was tired of school. He was tired of family. He was tired of living.

He ran his hand across his dark, golden hair and closed his eyes. The day that had just passed flashed back to him instantly.

_"Is everything alright?" _

_ As he maintained his slack posture, he refrained from making direct eye contact, focusing instead on the single chip of paint peeing off the edge of the window pane. _

_ "Alfred?" _

_ "Yeah. I'm good, I'm good." _

_ "Are you sure? You didn't go to school for a week. Are you sure you're alright?" _

_ "Yeah, I'm sure. Sorry if I didn't say anything about it…" He trailed. _

_He sighed. "You have to listen carefully, Alfred. You've been doing really well since the semester began, but lately, your academic performance isn't… Well, it isn't meeting the expectations of your teachers. Now, I don't know what happened, mainly because you don't want to talk about it, but I still have to remind you that you'll have to take these two make-up examinations on Thursday next week, and three more the week after that. Unless you comply with that, you'll get held back a year," the slim man with slender, hazel eyes and a neat ponytail told him behind his desk. Alfred's attention momentarily drifted off to the writings on the board. He didn't understand any of them. To him, they only looked like fat worms swallowing the numbers whole. "Would you like some tutoring? I'll be more than happy to help you with anything you don't understand." _

_ He languidly shook his head. The teacher wore a troubled look and opened his mouth to speak, but Alfred cut him, "I'll be fine, mister Wang. I'll… I'll make things happen." _

_ "Are you sure?" He asked with a faint trail of his accent. _

_ He nodded listlessly and motioned to leave. The chair scratched the floor as he stood up. "Thanks, mister Wang. Guess I'll just have to study for them." _

_ "Do that, okay?" He called back to his student who was already at the door. _

_ Without looking back, he waved a hand in dismissal and closed the door behind him. _

_ "Oh, that child…" Mister Wang mumbled to himself. _

_ He stood at the far end of the corridor, near one of the windows, and watched the soccer team pass and kick around a black and white ball. "Damn… I'm never gonna pass those fucking make-up tests," he told himself as he ran his hand through his gold hair and scrunched up a patch until it was painful. He closed his eyes and muttered under his breath. "Screw this, fuck my life." _

_ A tall student saw him, and decided to approach him. The spikes of his hair remained firm as he walked toward the blond. He stopped just behind him and pulled down his scarf wound around his neck, up to his mouth. "Alfred." _

_Alfred turned around and saw one of his acquaintances. The Dutch student he met at Chemistry class two years ago. "Oh, Hans. It's only you. What is it?"_

_ "You look bad. Is something wrong?" _

_ "Nah. Everything's good," he said as he patted the taller student on the shoulder. _

_ "Are you sure? Because," he glanced around to make sure they were the only ones in the hallway. When he judged that no one else was there, he took out something from his pocket, "you look like you need some of this," he held it out for him to take it. "My stocks just came in last night. Go on, take it." He brought it closer to the other and added, "my treat." _

_ It was a small paper container with a picture of five leaves on a single stem. Daniel wouldn't have been pleased, Alfred was sure. He eyed it with the look of utter disgust and glimpsed sideways before he took it. The Dutch offered him a lighter, but he shook his head. "I'll smoke it when I get home. Thanks." _

_ Hans shrugged. "Suit yourself." _

_ He walked home alone, extremely cautious when he passed by one of his lecturers' houses. He pulled a prank on professor Beilschmidt, the German physics teacher, whom everyone in his class thought 'inhumanely strict.' Although the professor knew it in his bones that Jones and his friends were behind the cruel prank, he did not complain, nor did he blame anyone for the deed, which spoiled Alfred's thrill. _

_ He arrived home and found the house extremely quiet. He found it hard to believe that the house he had lived in for so long was that silent; it had never, even once, been like that before. Aside from his footsteps, not a sound could be heard. The atmosphere was gloomy, sad, almost constricting. It had never been like that. He remembered everything being so lively and not a second had it been dim and miserable like it was at the moment. But, of course, that was _before_. _

_ He found his brother sitting on the couch, his face buried in his hands. He looked terribly pitiful. And it pained him to see his brother as he was. His polar bear was sitting with him, holding his owner's glasses. Alfred felt his stomach churn. He felt bad. _

_ "Hey—" _

_ "I'll be looking after dad tonight," he cut, sounding muffled as his face was still in his hands. "I'll get dinner starting in a little while, then I'll go to the hospital. I'll be spending the night there." _

_ "Mattie, listen," the polar bear looked at him as he sat beside Matthew, "why don't you get some rest? I bet you're tired. I'll look after dad tonight. You've haven't let me switch shifts with you for three days now." _

_ He shook his head. "You stay. You have exams to study for." _

_ "How come you—" _

_ "Mister Wang told me. He asked me if you were alright. He said you've been acting weird lately." _

_ "Well, did you tell him about what happened?" _

_ "…no. I couldn't bring myself to tell it to anybody." _

_ Alfred bit his lips and sighed. After a few moments worth of silence, he heard sobs. He frowned sadly and turned to Matthew. He placed his hand consolingly on his brother's shoulder. _

_ "If only that stupid… Everything should still be okay… And, and dad wouldn't be in the hospital… And Danny… Danny would still be with us," he struggled to say in between sobs. His voice broke. _

_ "Mattie," Alfred spoke gently, "it already happened. We can't do anything about it now." _

_ His brother cried harder. _

_ "It's already been a week. Can't you—" _

_ "If—If you're trying to tell me to get over it," he hiccupped, "I… I just can't do that." The polar bear nestled his head on Matthew's lap. "In fact, even how many days, or weeks, or months, or even years pass," he hiccupped again, "I don't think I'll ever get over it. Losing a brother is hard, Al. Danny's gone and he'll never ever come back." _

_ "I know. I know that all too well. Look, I know our situation isn't at its best at the moment, what with Danny gone and dad in the hospital, but…" He couldn't think of anything to add to that, so he simply did what he had always done since back then. He pulled his brother in, let him cry on his shoulder, and embraced him. "I'm sorry I can't do anything about it." _

_ "No, it... It was never your fault, Al." _

_ "I'll come to the hospital with you later. I want to see dad, too." _

_ "Dad?" Matthew called tenderly as he and his brother went into their father's room. He had with him his polar bear, while his brother held a paper bag of food and a fresh pair of clothes. _

_ "Dad?" Alfred voiced, following shortly behind Matthew. _

_ "Alfred? Is that you?" A blond man called from his bed near the window. He labored hard to sit up and lean on the headboard, before straining to see his visitors. "Oh, boys, I'm glad to see you!" He said happily when he caught sight of his sons. There was a twinkle in his amethyst eyes for a moment. And, smiling, he beckoned his eldest son and held out his arms open. "It's been so long, Al! I thought you already forgot about me!" _

_ Alfred wore a slightly troubled smile and grinned. He obliged to his father's embrace. "Yeah, dad. It's been so long. Two days, was it?"_

_ "Two, _long_ days, my boy!" He defended. "Matthieu, come here, as well!" And his younger son obliged to his embrace, as well. _

_ "Dad," Alfred whined childishly. _

_ "It breaks my heart not to have Daniel with us," he continued on a more serious tone, his voice suddenly dropped. Matthew held his breath and bit his lip to restrain himself from crying. The elder of the two frowned, unable to think of anything decent to say. _

_ "Dad, I'm sorry—" _

_ A knock on the door, and it opened. "Monsieur Francois? Eet ees time to check your blood pressure," a French nurse entered the room. She saw the scene and recoiled, "oh, I am very sorry to deesturb you, I deed not know…" _

_ "Ah, Marianne, it is no trouble," he withdrew from his sons and discreetly winked at them. "She just graduated from nursing school, she's new here," he whispered. _

He's diverting us again.

_ "Here's four dollars and fifty cents, sir," the girl over the cash register said politely as she handed him his change, her small, tan hand reaching to him. She gave him a grin as an attempt to cheer him up. _

_ "_Sir_, huh?" He said, slightly mocking. _

_ "Come on, Alfred. Don't mess around, it's my part-time job," she told him. _

_ He shrugged. "Hey, Sey, isn't it hard having a part time job this late at night?" He asked. "To think we still have classes tomorrow, too." _

_ "Not really." She took a glimpse of her watch. "My shift's going to end soon, anyway." _

_ "Alright, then. 'Night." _

_ "See you tomorrow," Sey returned. _

_ "Oh," he turned back, "thanks for selling me the beer." _

_ "That's not free. You owe me one," she smirked. _

_ "Sure." _

_ He stepped out the convenience store and walked on the pavement back to their house. True, he felt lonely that he would be spending the night alone, but he took advantage of the chance and bought himself some drinks. He knew perfectly well that if his father were to find out, he would be furious. _

_ "Alfred? Is that you?" _

_ Torn away from his thoughts, he saw a familiar face straining hard to see his. _

_ "Clara?" _

_ "Oh, it _is_ you! Crap, I couldn't see you well," she giggled. _

_ He wore a slightly troubled smile. "I've been telling you to get yourself a pair of glasses, but you just don't listen, huh?" He scratched the back of his head and averted his face. "So, what are you doing out so late?" _

_ "Uhh… Right. Shouldn't I ask you the same thing, though? Well anyway, I was just running over to the convenience store to get some more snacks. Elizaveta and the others are sleeping over at my house. What about—" she spotted the plastic bag he held, "oh, wait. Don't tell me. You bought beer again, didn't you? And on a school night, too," she said, sounding disappointed. _

_ It took him a few moments before he could answer. "Well, yeah… But it's just _beer_." _

_ "Haven't I told you not to do that? At least on school nights," she moaned, putting a hand on her waist. She simply ended up sighing, defeated. "But what the hell? You won't listen to me, anyway. You never did," she added. "Just make sure you don't get too wasted. People wouldn't want you trotting to class all drunk." _

_ "You still haven't changed, even after what happened," he settled, finally smiling. _

_ "Huh? What do you mean?" _

_ "Well… How do I put this…?" He thought for a few moments, looking very bothered and anxious before he chose his words, "just, how come you're still so nice to me even after we broke up?" _

_ She cocked her head to the side, inquiring. "Well, why not?" Not waiting for an answer, she continued, "I mean, _seriously_, just because two people broke up, it doesn't necessarily mean they couldn't be friends, right?" _

_ "But aren't you dating one of those Italian brothers?" _

_ "Well," she shrugged and looked away as she felt heat building up on her face. "Yeah, so? I mean, you could see other girls, but it doesn't mean that we couldn't be friends," she reasoned. "You deserve to be happy, too, Al. Believe me, as much as I know you, you really do deserve to be happy." _

But I don't want to see _other_ girls, damn it. _You're_ the only one—

_ "I wouldn't want to lose you, Al," she said. Some light sparked inside him. "You're very important to me. I wouldn't want to lose a friend like you." _

_ It felt as though ten thousand arrows were shot through his chest. It was painful. It was so painful, he felt unbearably numb all over. _

_ "I… I wish he'd treat you nice." _

_ "He does. For now, at least. Heh." _

_ "In any case, I guess I won't keep you any longer. I bet your friends are waiting. And I know Elizaveta doesn't like waiting. Or any of them, for that." _

_ "Yeah. I guess—" _

_ "Hey, Clara!" A voice behind her called. They turned to face who it was, and to Alfred's ironic cliché, there came to view the man she was currently occupied with. It was as if someone sprayed salt to his open wounds. _

_ "Like him," the blond mumbled. _

_ "Lovino? What're you doing here?" _

_ "Bel and Elizaveta were complaining how long it's taking you to go get food. So they told me to go after you," the older of the Italian brothers said blandly. He spotted Alfred and casually nodded to him, "'Sup?" _

_ "Hey," he replied, forcing a smile that created a rupture on his heart. He turned to Clara. "Anyway, I should go. See you around, Cla, Lovino."_

_ "Yeah, see you," Lovino said. _

_ "Yeah. See you around, Al. Good night." _

_ "'Night." _

_ She waved a hand and he went on his way. He took an inconspicuous glance over his shoulder and saw them speaking. He heard her giggle and not minding the pain, he smiled reminiscently at the times when he used to make her laugh like that. He should be happy for her, but at the back of his mind, emotions like resentment and indignation were screaming at him. He swore he could just feel them eating right through him. He vaguely wondered if Lovino had already touched her. And if he had, he wondered if Lovino did it the way he did, whether he did it the way she wanted him to. His own thoughts sickened him. When the couple disappeared as he rounded a corner, he groaned angrily and kicked the lamp post nearest him. His foot throbbed, but he merely brushed it off and went home. _

_ "She just _had_ to leave me. And at a time like this, too," he said, his voice slightly breaking as he let out a loud breath. "Damn, fuck this shit!" _

_ He sat alone on the couch in the living room. The television was tuned into one of the movie channels, and the table in front of him accommodated an empty box of fries, a half-eaten hamburger and six cans of beer with comparatively high alcohol content, four were drained, one was half empty, and another was unopened. He stared at the easy chair beside him. He suddenly felt lonely and forsaken. Like a swift passing wind, he instantly remembered his brother, Daniel. He was his partner in crime. Whenever he felt like drinking in the middle of the week, he would never refuse. In fact, Daniel would always be the one to distract their father while he went out to buy drinks. _

_ As the final credits rolled and the sound was slowly fading, he finished the last open can and began cleaning up. Like they always did, no evidence must be left. But unlike before, he was the only one left to clean up now, no more Danny to fool around with. _

He opened his seemingly vacant eyes. It was still dark, and he vaguely wondered if he had fallen asleep. This time, he was precisely sure he _wanted_ to sleep. He tilted his head to check the time.

_02:58_, blinked his clock.

He mumbled something under his breath.

_Fuck this… My life's a mess_.

A sudden sharp pain seared across his forehead and for a moment, he thought he felt like Harry Potter. Ignoring the slight headache, he simply blinked away his discomfort and ran a hand over his face. His eyes cracked a quarter open and in an instant, he saw something glint from his bedside table. He blinked again, attempting to clear his vision and, there it lay. The light from the lamp post outside shone on the sharp, silver blade. He recognized it as the small dagger Hans had given him 'in case of emergencies.' It was 'lightweight and easy to hide,' the Dutch added. He sat up and reached for the dagger. He recalled how sharp it was; the first time he held that, he lightly ran his forefinger along the length of the blade. When he looked at his finger, he saw that his skin was cut, though not so deep to make him bleed.

Without his glasses, he eyed it, straining a bit to see the thing well. He held the thing dangerously; the hilt stuck out between his thumb and forefinger, the blade out the bottom. His eyes glanced from the blade to the front of his elbow. He vaguely remembered his biology teacher saying that death would come quicker if one were lacerated there rather than the wrist.

Whether or not it was true, he wanted to see for himself.

"…_your academic performance isn't meeting the expectations of your teachers—_"

A vacant look occupied his face; his eyes grew blank and pensive.

"_…you look like you need some of this._"

He held up the dagger.

"_You're very important to me. I wouldn't want to lose a _friend_ like you_."

He poised the blade directly above his arm, he gripped the hilt tightly and—

_Because of me… Because of me, Danny was—_ Danny—

"Are you sure about that? Because _I_ wouldn't do that if I were you," a somewhat familiarly accented voice floated off from one of his windows. Fortunately, it was enough distraction to tear him away from the blade and his arm. "I'd suggest you put down that little bread knife of yours," he added, "before you hurt yourself."

Alfred saw the silhouette of something and tightened his grip on the dagger.

"Oh, relax, I won't hurt you or anything. Now, put that bread knife away before you hurt yourself."

"Yeah?" He asked calmly as he strained to see whoever spoke to him. "Well, what if I was actually planning to?"

"Really now, and then what?" A short, blond man climbed in from the window and with a soft thud, he gently landed on the carpeted floor of Alfred's room. He shuffled near to the bed and crossed his arms. "Go to a corner and mope, hoping someone would take notice of you and shower you with attention, love and affection? Oh, please." He waved a hand languorously. "I've seen too much of that a single bloody lifetime could handle."

Alfred put away the dagger, an act which the blond smiled smugly at, and reached for his glasses to see better. He recognized the man from a vague memory. If he recalls correctly, the blond man was a faculty member. European literature, if he weren't mistaken.

"Well, what if I planned more than just hurting myself?"

"Oh, don't be silly, why would you do that?"

"Because my life's too fucked up. That's enough reason. It'll all be easier if everything just… Ended, you know?"

"Oh come on, just because your girlfriend broke up with you, just because you did drugs and just because of that accident with—"

"It wasn't an accident," Alfred caught curtly, almost sounding rude.

"It was. I'm quite certain," he answered confidently.

The bespectacled blond eyed him curiously, thinking why and how the person knew so much about him. It was probably the beer, but he simply brushed off the thought and looked away. "Who the hell are you and why are you here, anyway?"

"To stop you from that little feat you were attempting earlier. If I hadn't come on time, I probably wouldn't be having this conversation with you at the moment," the short blond explained. "Not to mention it would be quite a troublesome mess to clean up."

"You know, just because you showed up, whoever the hell you are, it doesn't mean it's going to stop me from doing it later or whenever," Alfred snapped, vexed. "And for the record, I could call up the cops right now and have you arrested for trespassing into private property."

"Oh, but you're not going to do that," the British said boldly, somewhat arrogant. "But _seriously_," his tone shifted, "you really thought you could solve anything with killing yourself?" Impatient and not waiting for an answer, he deemed that the blond in bed would choose not to respond. "Have you thought about the consequences? Have you thought about what would happen next after your daring little exit from this world?" Alfred's expression began to soften. "Have you thought about the fact that you would be depriving Clara of a friend she—"

"She doesn't need me."

"—needs? Or have you thought of how your brother and father would feel? Your father just lost a son. Matthew lost a brother. Must they lose another one? Must they bear the same pain all over again? Have you thought of how they would feel if, say, your father was released from the hospital, and comes home with your brother, only to see your dead bloody body sprawled across your bed? Don't you think it's selfish, not being considerate of them?" He paused for a second, and scoffed, "oh, please, Alfred, you are much, _much_ too immature for these things. I'm sure you haven't thought this out thoroughly."

Alfred frowned. He felt insulted. And it felt wrong to be insulted in his own home.

And finally, it came to him.

"How do you know all this, anyway? How come you know about my dad and Matthew? How…" At last, logic and proper reasoning finally got a hold of him. Now that he thought about it, it truly _was_ baffling. He never told anyone about anything that personal. "How come you know about the shit that happened to me? Who are you and why the hell are you trying to interfere with my life? It's already fucked up as it is, I don't want another psycho to jump in." His eyes wandered behind the man and spotted what he thought were white feathers trembling with the gentle, passing breeze. His azure eyes widened more so, and his face became painted with a fuller color of indignation and questioning.

The short blond man who stood at his bedside stared at him, examining the expression on his face. Alfred seemed remarkably serious and compelled for answers. This amused him. With an oddly thick brow raised, his lips cracked into a mischievous, but serenely sweet smile; there was a twinkle in his emerald eyes. For a moment, he looked like cherub with unusually thick brows. He let out a chuckle.

"What the hell's so funny?" When the man laughed slightly harder, he continued, his voice hard, "stop fucking around and answer me, you goddamn Brit."

"I'm sorry," he caught his breath, "you're much too serious. It amuses me."

"I don't give a fucking damn. Just give me answers already. Are you some kind of stalker or something?"

The Briton coughed to clear his throat; his demeanor changed abruptly, surprising Alfred. "No, sadly, I'm not. At any rate, do you really want to know the truth?"

"Gee, what do _you_ think?"

"Forgive me," he caught, "it was the wrong question. What I shall tell you is the utmost truth. Are you _prepared_ for it?"

"Guess so. Just go on, already."

"Alright, then. I can only hope you believe it." He took a breath. "My name is Arthur. Arthur Kirkland. I am your guardian and I was sent here to look after you."

"You're my guardian? And someone sent you to _look after_ me?" Alfred repeated.

"I'm quite sure you heard me the first time, Alfred Jones."

"Yeah, great. That's just _great_. The last thing I need's a babysitter. Or some nutcase."

Arthur gave him a look. There was something about him that steered Alfred away from letting out too much sarcasm. He coughed a fake cough. "But anyway… How did all that crap happen? And why did you have to look after _me_, of all people, instead of Danny? And why'd they send you in the first place? _Who_ sent you? And if any of this _is_ true, why'd you show up only _now_?"

The Briton let him take a breath before speaking, "the reason why I was sent to look after _you_, why I revealed myself to you only _now_, why I was not appointed to your brother—the answer to all your questions… Is simple. It is because God has plans His plans. And I am merely following His instructions."

"God? _God_?" He scoffed, "seriously, _dude_. Look. I don't believe in no damn god. So don't give me that kind of crap," he laughed sarcastically. "So go on. Tell me the truth. Or better yet…" He paused, causing Arthur to listen intently, "tell me, which mental institution did you come from? I might be able to take you back."

Arthur looked at him, his gaze calculating, distraught at what he heard, although he was completely aware that Alfred bent to no religion. In addition, it was no surprise to him that he was thought to have escaped from a mental institution. Because he understood why. He knew the situation was difficult to believe. Anyone would have found it absurd. It was not as if he expected to be believed so readily and openly. Arthur sighed. "Alfred, I know I can't force you to believe what I said, nor can I force religion on you, or _anything_, for that matter, but whether or not you choose to believe me, what I said is the absolute truth."

There was something about his disposition that prevented the blond in bed from rebutting him.

Alfred pulled his lips in a straight line and averted his face. "Don't tell me the things on your back are wings."

"Oh, these?" He made a 180 degree turn and stretched his wings to their full length. They were magnificent, even though they were illuminated only by the single lamp post outside, since the crescent moon had already passed. Alfred could not help but marvel at them. "Yes, these _are_ wings. Quite fragile at times, though."

Alfred examined the pair, running his hands across the white feathers. They were so surreal, as if something from a dream. Out of curiosity, he got hold of one of the longest, thickest feathers he found and tugged on it. When it stayed intact, he strengthened his grip and pulled harder until it came off. Arthur let out a sharp yelp of pain.

"Ow! That hurt! What do you think you're doing?"

Ignoring the Briton's remark, Alfred stared at where he plucked the feather from and saw there was a growing red blob on the spot. "Damn. It _is_ real. And it's bleeding, too," he told himself. "Hey, does it hurt?"

Arthur turned to face him again. "Yes. It does. I'm sure it bled, didn't it?"

"Uhh… Yeah. Sorry 'bout that."

"Perhaps you believe me now?"

"Well, honestly… I'm not really sure what to believe in anymore."

"Quite understandable. This must be a lot to take in. I know you're an—"

"Yeah. 'Cause it's just a dream."

"—intelligent… I beg your pardon?"

"It's a lot to take in? Yeah. It is. 'Cause this is just a dream. I fell asleep when I climbed into bed after I cleared up in the living room. And this whole dream started when I took Hans's dagger. I know it's a dream 'cause I always keep Hans's dagger in my jacket. I never take it out 'cause I don't want my dad or Matthew to see it. And of course, there's you. Think about it, a blond, British man climbing into my window at three in the morning? Seriously, who would come up to some high school kid's house at three AM knowing the kid's planning to kill himself, and arrive _just in the nick of time_ before the knife touches him? Dude, I've got to be stupid crazy to believe that. And anyway, there's just no god. And angels? They're just mythical creatures created by sad, miserable humans as an attempt to escape from their sad, inescapable misery. It's simple as that, so I'm a hundred percent sure this is a dream." He paused. "Then, I'm gonna wake up soon enough to go to school later."

"Oh, Alfred…" Arthur mumbled, forlorn.

"Oh, and another thing, you know shit about my life. Shit I haven't even told _anybody_ yet. So, yeah. This _is_ a dream. All the information you've got there're the pent-up stuff both in my conscious and subconscious just dying to get out. So I suppose you're the outlet of all my pent-up shit."

The Briton sighed. "Alfred…" He moaned sadly. He felt incredibly useless. He closed his eyes and took a moment to clear his mind. "You—you… Look, you have to listen to me." He sighed with badly concealed exasperation. "_Fine_. Whether or not you believe me at the moment doesn't matter anymore. It's just—I can only hope that when you _wake up_, as you say, you'll remember this: I will always have to look after you, and no matter how many times you attempt to kill yourself, I will always, _always_ arrive and I can promise you, I'll never fail to stop you from killing yourself. Because I wouldn't want that to happen, aside from the duties I am to fulfill. You're a child and you still have your whole life waiting for you. Don't try to end it sooner than it should." Arthur sat on the bed, considerably near the bespectacled blond. "Sure, let's say this _is_ a dream—a dream different from all the other dreams you've had before, a dream you will remember so vividly when you wake tomorrow. This will be a dream that you shan't ever forget." He set a hand on Alfred's shoulder. "So, good night," as he finished, he leaned in and closed his emerald eyes, feeling the heat across his face, and finally pressing his lips on the other.

_Oh, god, what the hell—? This isn't happening. THIS IS—_

Whether or not he was conscious, Alfred obliged and gave in, but just as it began feeling real, Arthur pulled away. The color on the Briton's face was visible with the light of the lamp post outside. He trembled lightly. "My task for tonight has been accomplished. Good bye for now. Until we meet again."

The bespectacled blond helplessly stared after the Briton from his bed. Arthur made a full turn, discreetly averting his face as he did; the redness of his ears was noticeable. He walked away and stood near the window where he came in. With one final glance and a small wave, he propped himself at the ledge and made a jump. Alfred expected to hear a thud, some rustling grass, or any sound that meant he landed, but none came.

Without another word, Alfred lied back down, pulled the covers up to his neck and slept.

_ _ _Ho~hum_ _ _

His azure eyes sprang open and he felt something sickeningly optimistic in him. But he did not mind. He leapt out of bed and headed straight to his closet and immediately rummaged in his usual jacket to check for the dagger Hans gave him. When he failed to find it, he searched in his other jackets, though he was sure it was not there. He headed back to his bedside and, to his surprise, he found Hans's dagger on his bedside table, along with the packet the Dutch had given him the previous day. And, to his great astonishment, with his heart making a sudden, nervous jolt in his ribcage, he found a large, white feather sitting next to the dagger.

_ A white feather. Hmmm._

_._

_.._

_..._

* * *

**A/N:** Hi, there. Again. Right… To those who know me from other fics, especially in le _Panda_, I'd want to apologize since I promised to write a two-part epilogue. And the other UsxUK one, too. Unfortunately, college screws me bad. Especially when you go to where I go. Ugh. T_T Sorry. Anyway, it's in the works. I'll finish them no matter what. owo

I just hope Chem series and pre-med proper shit don't kill me. 8D Wheeeee~!

April 29, 2012  
1503H


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